


Like Vines We Intertwined

by gilligankane



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-28
Updated: 2010-04-28
Packaged: 2017-11-17 07:50:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gilligankane/pseuds/gilligankane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She looks down but it’s hard to tell where her foot starts and where Rachel’s hip touches her own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Vines We Intertwined

She looks down but it’s hard to tell where her foot starts and where Rachel’s hip touches her own. In the near-dawn light – the time she never sleeps through anymore – Rachel’s skin is the same color as her almost translucent tone, melding together in a tangle of skin and bone and purple-painted toenails. Quinn looks back up at the ceiling, feeling Rachel’s hand scratch against her ribcage.

Rachel is up now, Quinn can tell just by that motion – fingernails tracing against the rib she bruised during a Cheerios practice once, that never really healed over – so she rolls, trapping Rachel’s hand against her body, the sharp points of her nails a mere nuisance.

“Morning,” she whispers.

Rachel blinks sleepy eyes, dark pools of tiredness unfocused before smooth eyelids slide down over them, shining a little brighter when they open again.

“It’s not morning,” Rachel argues softly.

They whisper, as if someone is listening to their secrets ( _Once,_ Rachel says almost breathlessly,  _I almost quit singing, because I was convinced I wasn’t good enough to do anyone’s song justice_ ).

Quinn frees Rachel’s hand, capturing it in her own and tracing every life line, every finger, every vein and the tiny scar on her pinkie finger. She hums under her breath – a song that doesn’t have words, just a melody, and sometimes, Rachel will sing along, and Quinn will stop humming all together, content to hear the melody in the rise and fall of Rachel’s breathing.

Rachel’s body shivers against hers as Quinn’s fingertips skim across the inside of her wrist and Quinn smiles, bringing Rachel’s palm to her mouth, pressing a solitary kiss in the center.

Rachel’s hand closes tightly, Quinn’s finger still in her fist. “I’m saving the kiss,” Rachel breathes, and Quinn doesn’t want her to have just one, so she tilts Rachel’s head up, giving her  _two, three, four_.

That’s when it started; when the clammy warmth against her grew colder and the toes tickling the back of her calf faded like the words Rachel sighed and the pressure low in her stomach rose into her heart and squeezed so tightly each breath came slower. She felt the hand wrapped around her finger loosen and her own arm slipped away, hitting against only comforter where Rachel’s arm wasn’t. She stretched her knee forward but there was nothing to touch; no bare skin, no silk-like satin, no dip of bone under the kneecap that she’s traced with her mouth, only cold against her side and the marks against her ribcage, where Rachel’s fingernails caught and kept, grew a fainter red until the pink sank into her skin, gone.

She felt Rachel slip out of her grasp; out of the intertwining of their bodies and she wanted to reach for anything, but there was nothing to reach for anymore.

Quinn looked down but it was hard to tell where her foot started and where Rachel’s body should have been, tangled against her skin. She blinked against the near-dawn and wished she could sleep.


End file.
